


summer in the city that we're living in

by dawn in the fields (ewidentnie)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Breeding Kink, Crossdressing, M/M, Prostitution, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26210047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewidentnie/pseuds/dawn%20in%20the%20fields
Summary: Goro would be lying, if he said he never thought about it.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Other(s), Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 168
Collections: Bottom Goro Secret Summer Santa (exchange)





	summer in the city that we're living in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lesbiantakemi (jumpforjo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpforjo/gifts).



> this is my secret santa piece for lesbiantakemi!!! i hope you enjoy ♥
> 
> please note that cntw is checked for a reason.

Goro would be lying, if he said he never thought about it.

It’d be almost impossible not to, the amount of time he spends talking about it. He’s got it down to a routine even Shido would be proud of. Should be proud of, considering that it’s Shido’s _requests_ that have him doing it, but that would assume that Shido was capable of being proud of anyone except himself. Capable of being proud of the bastard son that he’s asking to whore himself out for political favours.

It’s not like Goro says no, but sometimes at least he wishes he could get something out of it too. Favours don’t put cash in his bank account.

Today’s _favour_ isn’t any different: middle-aged, receding hairline; a suit that’s limp from the muggy summer night. Goro’s seen him once or twice before - he’s got a traditional wife who probably hasn’t taken off her kimono for him since they conceived his son, a twenty-something dropout with bleached hair and shitty clothing. The wife hadn’t spent more than a second looking at Goro, like he was trash on the sidewalk. The husband had spent much longer staring at him.

And people had noticed. Everyone had noticed, probably - including the wife - but most importantly, Shido had noticed. And Shido has an upcoming bill he’d like to push through that he needs votes for, and that’s why Goro is waiting in the lobby of a love hotel in the red-light district, perched on the edge of an armchair with his legs crossed primly.

The perching is because he doesn’t trust this place to clean anything. The crossed legs are because of the skirt he’s wearing. It’s pleated and short, the kind that comes with a school uniform that’s sold not to people that have to wear it but to people that want to wear it. Or, in Goro’s case, people who are about to sleep with people who are into it. He’s wearing the sailor top as well, of course - Goro never does anything by halves.

“Sorry I’m late,” tonight’s favour says. Goro’s pretty sure his name is Wakamatsu, or something along those lines. Goro tucks his hair behind his ear, a calculated gesture that he knows men like.

“It’s no problem,” he says. The voice he uses when he’s trying to be the Detective Prince comes out a little breathy - not on purpose, but it’s not hurting him either. He ducks his head so he can look up at Wakamatsu through his lashes. “I wanted to wait for you so you could pick the room, _sensei_.”

Wakamatsu chuckles at that, a patronizing sound that makes Goro grit his teeth to keep from scoffing at it. “Good boy,” he says, and then holds out a hand. “Shall we?”

Wakamatsu is painfully vanilla; the room he picks comes with a bed and a bathroom and little else. Makes Goro’s night easier, though, if he doesn’t have to go along with the kinky shit, so he clings to Wakamatsu’s arm and compliments him on his choice. The fabric of Wakamatsu’s suit - cheap, thin wool - is damp under his fingers.

Wakamatsu seems like the kind of man who needs a little goading, so when they lock the door behind him Goro takes his hand - tries not to wince at the clammy sweat, and mostly succeeds - and pulls him to the bed. Wakamatsu runs his hands up Goro’s legs, under the hem of his skirt, and tugs down his underwear - plain white panties, nothing too special; but the sound Wakamatsu makes is enough to tell Goro that he liked them.

“You’re so cute, Goro-chan,” Wakamatsu says, one large palm fondling his ass, the fingers dipping into the crease between his cheeks. “I’d like to get to know you better, if that’s alright with you.”

Goro nearly does roll his eyes at that, but Wakamatsu’s face is buried in his neck, so nothing’s lost. It’s not one of the worst euphemisms for ‘I want to fuck you, Goro’ he’s ever heard, but it’s close.

He doesn’t bother answering - just pushes Wakamatsu down onto the edge of the bed so he can settle in his lap, thighs and skirt spread open. Goro doesn’t need to look down to undo Wakamatsu’s belt and fly but he does, anyway, just so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. Wakamatsu’s breath starts coming short when Goro pulls out his cock, already starting to strain at his underwear, and then wraps a hand around it, stroking slowly.

This is the part he’s done time and time again, the part that he doesn’t even need to think about. The part he does think about, despite himself. “I want you to put it in me,” Goro says, letting his lashes flutter. “Would you do that for me, sensei?”

“Anything for Goro-chan,” Wakamatsu says, as if _he’s_ the one doing the favour, here. He leans back as Goro grabs lube from the bed table, before pouring some into his hand so he can slick Wakamatsu’s cock up. He’d prepped himself before coming here, and Wakamatsu’s cock isn’t nearly big enough to make him need anything more. Wakamatsu doesn’t say anything about it either, as Goro lifts his skirt up with one hand so he can guide the head of Wakamatsu’s cock to his hole with the other. Probably doesn’t know any better. _No wonder his wife hates him_ , Goro thinks absentmindedly, as he sinks down.

The moan he lets out as he bottoms out is fake, but the sigh of contentment after isn’t - small dick or not, Goro’s always liked feeling filled. “Your cock feels so good,” he says, lifting himself up on his knees so he can drop back down. He does it again once, twice, three times-- and that’s enough to get Wakamatsu to stop sitting there like dead meat and put some work in himself, rocking up to meet Goro’s movements. His thrusts are overly eager and clumsy, jabbing upwards with absolutely no finesse; nowhere near enough to get Goro off on his own, so he bites down on the hem of his skirt with his teeth so he can use his now-free hand to jerk himself off.

It doesn’t take long for Wakamatsu to get close, his thrusts speeding up and his fingers gripping harder on Goro’s hips. Goro lets the hem of his skirt fall; he knows what men like Wakamatsu like.

“Please come in me, sensei,” he gasps. His fingers tighten around his own cock as he says the words; this is the part that still gets to him, no matter how many times he has to do it. “I want you to fill me up, I want to feel your come in me--”

\--and that’s enough to do it, Wakamatsu’s hips jerking erratically as he pulls Goro down on his cock. “That’s right, Goro-chan,” he grunts, nonsensically, “I’ll give you what you want.” Goro’s vision goes white when he feels the hot rush of come in his ass, and when he comes back to himself there’s come on his hand as well; he looks at his hand disinterestedly before wiping it on the bed sheets.

Whatever spine Wakamatsu managed to pull together is gone soon after, in the initial wash of post-orgasm clarity. He stammers weakly as Goro lifts himself off, stepping away so he can pull his panties back on right over the mess of his hole.

“At this rate,” Goro says, slipping a finger under the hem of his underwear so he can adjust it, “you’re going to get me pregnant, sensei.” His amusement only grows when Wakamatsu turns bright red. He doesn’t think about the thrill that saying those words sends down his spine.

“Please keep Shido-sensei in mind in the future,” Goro says, bowing before turning to the door.

“Of course,” Wakamatsu says, still looking slightly shell-shocked on the bed where Goro’s left him. “I’d like to see you again,” he adds, and this time Goro really does roll his eyes.

“You’ll have to talk to Shido-sensei about that,” he replies, and closes the door behind him. Once outside, he finally lets his shoulders drop; lets the pleasant expression fall off his face. He needs to get home and wash this man’s fucking come out of his ass, needs to prep for a TV appearance later this week, needs to finish the mountain of homework that’s been building on his desk. It’s already past midnight; he can’t see any way around this except an all-nighter and vending machine coffee.

 _The things he does for Shido_ , Goro thinks, and walks away.

Goro does things for himself, too. The visit to the new ice cream parlour in Kichijouji isn’t one of them - he still has an image to keep up, after all, and it’s the exact kind of place that fits in with his public persona. ‘Small-batch artisanal ice cream and gelato,’ the sign says, and the menu has a small but well-curated list of Asian-inspired flavours: Hong Kong milk tea, Vietnamese iced coffee, whiskey green tea; soursop and mango. He goes with a scoop of milk tea and it’s served to him on a delicate little plate, with an equally delicate wafer decorating it and a spoon shaped like a sakura blossom to eat it with. The spoon pokes uncomfortably at the roof of his mouth when he eats with it, but it’s perfect for photos and that’s the important part. He can appreciate a business that shares his priorities.

The shop is mostly empty, Goro the only customer who didn’t take his ice cream to go. His table by the western windows - perfect lighting for blog pictures - gives him a good vantage point of the rest of the store, and once the two girls at the counter leave with popsicles in hand (“Thai iced tea,” one had said; “durian honey,” the other) it’s only Goro and the guy working behind the counter. Goro watches him thoughtfully as he licks the last drops of Hong Kong milk tea off his spoon, the tips of its petals poking into the soft flesh of his tongue. The server, he notices, is watching him back.

He puts his spoon down with a clink and takes a moment to reply to a text, tongue absentmindedly licking at the taste of ice cream on his bottom lip. When he looks back up, the server’s abandoned his post behind the counter and is standing next to Goro’s table.

“It looks like you enjoyed it,” the server - his name tag reads Yuuto - says. His voice is a little rougher than it had been when he’d taken Goro’s order, and he’s very clearly looking at Goro’s mouth, not his eyes. “Would you like another scoop? On the house,” he adds, waving at the menu.

If Goro’s reading this right - and he’s never wrong - he can definitely get something out of this. “Maybe not ice cream,” he says, letting his own gaze trail down Yuuto’s body, “but I wouldn’t mind something else…”

Yuuto’s swallow is visible. “My break is in five minutes,” he says. And then, “the employee bathroom has a lock.”

Yuuto’s cock is nice - average, but nice - and it’s one Goro really wouldn’t mind having in him, especially compared to Wakamatsu’s the other night. He doesn’t have anything on him, though, and while he knows it’s not safe to be letting every single politician with a failing marriage in the Diet fuck him bareback, he’s not stupid enough to let every random man he hooks up with on his own time do so as well.

So he settles to his knees and lets Yuuto fuck his face - almost as good, considering the circumstances. The head of his cock bumps at his soft palate, but he’s barely got a gag reflex anymore, and besides - it’s not even nearly as bad as the cafe’s damn pointy spoons.

Sucking cock is soothing, for Goro, in a way that getting fucked isn’t; it’s simple enough to relax his jaw and let Yuuto weave his fingers into his hair. Yuuto’s too nice to properly fuck his face - a shame, honestly - but he makes up for it with the way he pulls at Goro’s hair when he’s about to come. Maybe to pull him off - and isn’t that just so _nice_ of him, Goro thinks - but Goro just holds his ground, only pulling off just enough so that Yuuto comes in his mouth.

Yuuto looks at him like a revelation, despite Goro being the one on his knees. He licks come off his lips, the bitterness not quite managing to mask the last hints of condensed milk from earlier.

“Thank you for the food,” Goro says, wiping up a stray trickle with his thumb before licking that up as well. “It was delicious.”

“Any time,” Yuuto says breathlessly, and the rush of power Goro gets from the look in his eyes is enough to fuel him for another week.

Akira, though-- Akira is someone that Goro can’t quite categorize. “Of course I can infiltrate the Phantom Thieves,” he’d told Shido; of course he could get them to at least accept him - if not trust him - and get enough dirt on their leader to take them all down on his way to the bigger prize.

It should have been enough, just being Akira’s friend. And it is enough: for what Shido wants Goro to do. It’s not enough for himself, apparently; he wants more, wants Akira the way he wants to be filled and fucked by random men in the streets of Shinjuku, wants Akira because _he_ wants Akira and not because Shido told him to, and the two are getting confused in his mind.

He spends a week grappling with himself over this conflict. Invites Akira to Jazz Jin, and pretends it’s just so he can get in his good graces and not nearly as personal as it feels. Spends the entire time looking at Akira’s profile, watching the way his fingers tap against the table to the beat; the way he sips at the mocktail that Mugen had served them both.

Akira looks back at him during a saxophone solo, meeting his eyes - at first Goro hopes he hasn’t been caught staring, but then he realizes that Akira doesn’t mind. “This is great,” Akira says - at least that’s what Goro thinks he says; it’s too loud to hear his voice. The smile he gives Goro is small and private, something that immediately makes him think that showing Akira this place was worth it.

He immediately gives up on trying to keep his want for Akira at bay, and spends the rest of the set figuring out how to work it into his plans instead. More efficient to roll with it instead of fighting it, he thinks to himself, as if that’s a justification.

The rest of the summer is so busy that he barely has the time to act on any of it, though; he doesn’t get a chance until September, the last of summer's lingering heat still clinging to the asphalt in Tokyo's streets. Akira comes back from his school trip - _Hawaii_ , he’d said, handing Goro a tacky souvenir that had clearly been bought at the airport. Goro pretends to love it, and also pretends that he doesn’t think the slight tan Akira’s acquired is incredibly hot.

They’re in Leblanc after hours; Goro can linger over the last dregs of his coffee as an excuse not to leave. Akira’s not making any move to kick him out either, washing up the last of the dishes with such feigned nonchalance that it makes Goro want to laugh. It’s a school night, and Goro’s still got homework to do, but for some reason he doesn’t feel the need to rush out of Leblanc any time soon. He traces one gloved finger along the wood grain of Leblanc’s counter, before poking at the stupid airport charm just to hear the cheap bell on it jingle.

“It’s almost like I’ve got another cat,” Akira says, turning around at the sound, “except I don’t think you’d fit in my bed nearly as well.” Akira has an incredible poker face, and it’s only the slight upturn of his lips that signals to Goro that he’s flirting.

 _Fuck it_ , Goro thinks; this opportunity is right in front of him and he wants to grab it with both hands, for himself. He flirts back. “I’m hurt,” Goro says, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Are you saying I wouldn’t look good in your bed? Because I’m sure I would.”

“Mm, dunno,” Akira says, blinking slowly. “I’m not really good at spatial reasoning - I’m much more of a visual learner.” Goro huffs a laugh at that, before standing up so he can lean over the counter and shut Akira up with his mouth.

He doesn’t kiss much; he doesn’t care to with most of the men that Shido has him sleep with, and he hasn’t wanted to with the ones he’s slept with on his own, but something about the curve of Akira’s mouth makes him wonder what it’d feel like on his; want to trace it with his own tongue.

“Come upstairs,” Akira murmurs. “I’d like to do this properly.”

And Goro-- just nods.

He glances around Akira’s room more out of habit than curiosity, mentally filing away details to go over in his head later. An old CRT television, a shelf of souvenirs, posters on the wall, a mess of junk and scraps on the desk in the corner - all of it is unexpected but not unsurprising, a room that feels thoroughly like Akira despite the fact that it’s an attic full of junk.

Then Akira pushes him down onto his joke of a bed and Goro stops thinking about Akira’s shitty room and instead starts thinking about Akira’s fingers undoing the buttons of his uniform jacket, deftly pulling the tie at his throat loose, pushing his shirttails up so that he has access to all the skin underneath.

It’s nice like this, Goro thinks. He lets one gloved hand tangle into Akira’s messy curls - not like he can make it any worse - and the other curl into the sheets. It’s slower than he’s used to, slower than he’s allowed himself to take it, but he doesn’t dislike it. One doesn’t always have to impose a time limit on sexual encounters, after all.

He doesn’t think Akira’s the type to be satisfied with just some kissing and a little heavy petting, but it’s still longer than he would have thought before Akira stops lazily making out with him and grinding his cock into Goro’s hip. Akira’s dumb fake glasses are crooked when he props himself up over Goro, but when Goro takes them off and sets them on the windowsill the heat in Akira’s eyes somehow feels even more magnified.

“Let me fuck you,” Akira says, voice low and deep. Goro’s still aware that he’s got a persona to play, but even without that reminder all he can do is agree.

“Please,” he says; his voice feels oddly high so he says it again, but it comes out funny the second time; makes him sound more desperate than he feels. Akira doesn’t say anything about it, though, just sits up so he can pull off his shirt.

“Take off your clothes?” Akira asks, leaning over the edge of the bed to grab something from underneath it. He looks back up right as Goro is taking his gloves off, something sharpening in his gaze at the sight of Goro peeling them off finger by finger.

“You have no idea how much I thought about this,” Akira says, slicking his fingers up before tossing the lube to the side. He’s gentle when he pushes Goro down onto his back, gentle still as he gets Goro to spread his legs, but his fingers are sure as they find his hole, sliding one finger in all the way to the knuckle, Akira visibly delighting in Goro’s gasp. “Do you even know what your ass looks like in your pants? I just wanted to bend you over and fuck you over a table at the jazz club.”

Goro does know what his ass looks like in his pants - he wears them for a reason - but Akira slides another finger in and crooks them just so, before tugging the rim of his hole open even further so a third can join them. It’s been a while since someone else has fingered him, and even longer since someone did it with the aim of making Goro feel _good_ , and it’s making the words short circuit before they can reach his tongue. Akira works his way up to four before Goro can say anything again, and by then all he can do is ask for Akira to just _fuck him already, please, Kurusu_.

“I got you,” Akira says, pulling his fingers out with a slick sound that goes straight to Goro’s cock and reaching over Goro to grab a condom from the strip he’d left on the side of the bed.

Goro’s hand shoots out and grabs Akira’s wrist before he can even think about it. Akira glances down at him, calm in a way that feels utterly at odds with how Goro’s thoughts are racing.

 _This is such a bad idea_ , Goro thinks. What comes out of his mouth, is: “don’t”.

“You sure?” Akira asks, but his hand is already pulling away from the foil packets, willing to be convinced.

 _I’m fucking not,_ Goro thinks, lightning fast, and then, _are you stupid? Are you that fucking swayed by getting your dick wet that you’ll fuck anyone who begs you to do them raw?_ But those thoughts are gone as quickly as they came and Goro’s only nodding. “I want to feel it,” he says, the same words he’s said so many times, to so many different people, but this time-- he means it.

Akira moans, ducking his head down into the crook of Akechi’s neck at that. “God,” he says, “that’s so fucking hot, you have no idea.” Goro feels those words more than hears them, Akira’s breath tickling at his ear. Akira’s pulling away before Goro can linger on it, though, reaching for the lube so he can slick his own cock up, the head flushed dark red, already wet with precome.

He’s more than flexible enough for Akira to push his knees up to his chest the way he wants to. Goro feels exposed in a way he hasn’t in a while, naked and on his back like this. He’s not used to not being in control.

The head of Akira’s cock is nudging at his hole before he can think about that any further, though; it’s enough to get Goro’s mind onto more relevant matters. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” Akira says.

“You don’t need to narrate the obvious,” Goro says, but the effect is ruined by the way his breath hitches midway through, as Akira slides in to the hilt in one thrust.

“You don’t like hearing me talk?” Akira asks, one hand sliding up the back of Goro’s thigh as he pulls out, just the head remaining in Goro’s hole, before slamming back in. “You don’t want to hear about how bad I wanna fill you up? How much I wanna see my come leaking out of your gaping hole?” Goro only moans, the stretch in his hamstrings as Akira presses his knees up only an underpinning to the shiver that goes down his spine at Akira’s words.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Akira says, as Goro grabs his cock with his left hand, grip tight the way he likes it. He knows Akira can feel the way he clenches down on his cock by the way his hips stutter, but Akira recovers quickly enough and tilts Goro’s hips up so that every thrust has the head of Akira’s cock sliding along Goro’s prostate. Goro nearly sobs at it, teeth digging into his lower lip; he hasn’t been fucked this good in ages.

Akira hasn’t stopped talking, either, and what he’s saying is filthy enough to even make Akechi blush. “You like it raw, don’t you?” Akira asks; Goro barely manages to nod but Akira isn’t even looking for an answer before he continues. “You look so innocent, but you’re such a slut - you’d let anyone fuck you like this, wouldn’t you? Fill you up with so much come it’s leaking out of your hole?”

It’s nothing different from the same lines he’s told countless men, but someone else telling him it for once makes it different. _Akira_ telling him it makes it different; and Goro can’t pretend that he doesn’t love the idea of it anymore.

“I want it,” Goro says, almost delirious, “I want to be filled up, Kurusu, _please_ \--”

“Easy,” Akira says, pressing a mocking kiss to Goro’s cheek. “I got you.” His words are gentle, a stark contrast to the relentless snap of his hips. “It’s a shame you can’t get pregnant,” Akira murmurs in Goro’s ear, almost musing to himself, “because you’d look so good full of my come.”

And that’s what gets Goro, finally; Akira probably has girls for days hanging off him and yet here is fucking his come into _Goro’s_ ass. He comes so hard that some of it lands on his chest, so hard that he whites out for a minute and when he comes back to himself Akira is still fucking him, all traces of gentleness gone from his face, chasing his own orgasm.

“Do it,” Goro manages, voice nearly gone. “Come in me,” and Akira groans, thrusting so deep that Goro could almost swear that he can taste Akira’s cock in his throat before coming. His mind goes pleasantly blank as he feels the spurts of hot come in his ass; he doesn’t snap out of it until Akira’s pulling out, soft cock leaving a smear of come at Akechi’s hole.

“Sorry,” Akira says, not sounding very sorry at all. He reaches out, almost like he’s not thinking about it, and pushes some of the come leaking out back in. Goro’s still way too sensitive; he doesn’t know if he wants to pull away or push back onto Akira’s fingers.

Akira takes them away before he can decide, though, wiping his fingers off on the sheets before flopping down next to Goro, shoving him towards the wall so he can make space for Akira himself.

“You’re disgusting,” Akira says, face down into the pillows. “So fucking dirty.” He doesn’t sound displeased by it at all.

“Says the guy who wants to knock me up,” Goro says, staring up at Akira’s ceiling. There’s glow in the dark stars stuck to some of the beams, their daylight-pale shapes standing out against the dark wood. He glances over to see that Akira’s pillowed his head on his arms, staring unabashedly at Goro’s face. “What, you wanna try again?”

Akira’s grin is sharp and full of promise; for once, Goro doesn’t think about what he has to do.


End file.
